I Probably wouldn't be this Way
by SunRise19
Summary: Songfic to Leeann Rime's, I probably wouldn't be this way, Pocahontas tells about her husband's passing away, and the struggle to move on..PLZ RR!..COMPLETE


A/N: Hi all!

This is a songfic based on the Disney movie, "Pocahontas." The song is called, "I probably wouldn't be this way," and the artist is Leeann Rimes. I hope you'll enjoy this, I've never written something like this before, I hope I got the emotions right. Please tell me what you think, all comments are greatly appreciated, so please RR!

Thank you so much that you do, your reviews really do mean a lot!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything to do with, "Pocahontas," or the song, "I probably wouldn't be this way," which is sung by Leeann Rimes. I own nothing!

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'Got a date a week from Friday with the preacher's son.'

It had been a long day as I trudged back to my long house in my village and I had finally sat down on the mats that were lying on the ground. After a few minutes I sighed as I stood up and began to fix my dinner and after letting it cook for a little while I returned to my sitting position by the fire.

"Corn stew again," I mumbled as I stirred the contents in the pot that was sitting in front of me. As I tended to my food, I let my mind drift back to an event that didn't happen to long ago, but it seems like hours to me. I had just come back from shopping at the local store that I sometimes go to when Peter Mills had come up to me as I was trying to lift the heavy bag from out of the carriage.

"Pocahontas, it's so nice to see you," I heard him say as I turned to him.

"Yes, thank you it is nice to see you as well," I replied, my dark eyes looking in to his soft brown ones.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm alright; you?"

"I'm doing well, my mother says that she enjoyed the cornbread that you had sent over," Peter said as I saw him smile, "I enjoyed it as well; you're a great cook!"

"Thank you," I replied as I turned and pretended to try and lift the bag again; I didn't want to be rude and just end the conversation.

"Pocahontas," the sound of my name made me jump and I had turned my head in Peter's direction, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course Peter, what is it?"

Thinking back on the event that had only taken place thirty minutes prior, I should've known what he was going to inquire of me. But I had stood there and waited for him to continue.

"Well," Peter had cleared his throat, "I was wondering if I may call on you sometime? Perhaps we can go to dinner or a play…"

Jamestown had very recently built a small building for entertainment near the center of town; and they now and again perform plays by an author named William Shakespeare.

His voice had trailed off then, and I realized that I had lowered my head and had my eyes slightly closed in memory. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked up at the young man. He had started speaking again, "Maybe some other time… have a good day Pocahontas."

I watched him begin to walk away, until something snapped inside and I had called after him, "Peter?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know what Shakespeare play they are performing?"

I had leaned against the carriage and I had blinked back tears as we made the arrangements for my first courting experience since I had become a widow. I do hope Peter did not see how difficult that was for me, but if he did he gave no hint to having noticed.

'Everybody says he's crazy, guess I'll have to see.'

I honestly don't know why Peter has not found any woman worth courting in this small town. Again, I do not understand why the women seem not to notice him; he's a nice looking man, with light brown hair and eyes to match. He isn't too tall, but he isn't stout either. He seems to be soft spoken, and he comes from a good Christian family, a religion that I am not to familiar with, but one that I respect and am interested in learning about.

'I finally moved to Jackson when the summer came, I won't have to pay that boy to rake my leaves.'

It wasn't long after John died that I had discovered that living alone in London was going to be too hard and too painful. I needed to be back with my people, I needed the love and support of my father, Nakoma, and grandmother willow. I needed my homeland. The people in London were nice enough, and a young neighbor boy had offered his help around the house, but I couldn't let him do that. I wanted to leave our flat the way it was when we had lived there, the way it was when I had been married. A few weeks after the start of spring, I had boarded a ship back to Jamestown. I had arrived in the late summer; and I had thanked the spirits for my homeland.

'I'm probably going on and on it seems I'm doing more of that these days.'

Sometimes when the silence gets to be too much in the dark of night, I talk to myself if only to remind myself that I am still alive. I speak to myself, I pray to the spirits, I sometimes sob until the sun will rise; anything to feel. I remember a thick numbing feeling engulf me the night he had past away, and I have fought to lift it. I have to lift it, I have to get over him; he ordered me to. I must move on with my life because of John, because he gave and is always giving me the strength in order to do so.

'I probably wouldn't be this way, I probolally wouldn't hurt so bad.'

But to be honest, I haven't truly followed his last command until today when I excepted Peter's offer of an evening out. It has been two years, two years of pain and heartache that sometimes lessen, and then get worse as if he had died the day before. I have good and bad days, the bad out number the good it looks that way to me.

'I never pictured every minute with out you in it, oh you left so fast.'

It's not like we were an old married couple, and my husband had died in my arms; it was a young married couple, we had been married for three years, and he died in my arms. Early one winter morning, John had come down with a fever; I knew the London winters were cold, and so I tried my hardest to keep our house as warm as possible. I fixed him some soup and a cup of tea, and I had to make him lay down so he could rest. There was nothing else I could do, but stand near his bed, our bed in case he needed me for anything. As the days wore on, John's health was not improving and I had sent for the doctor. He came and looked John over, and told me to just keep doing what I had been doing all along.

Then it happened. I should have known something horrible was about to happen, the wind outside the windows blew brutally against them, John's coughing bouts were becoming more frequent, and my wonderful happy dreams were turning to nightmares. The ice and snow had blown against the windows all that day, and I had shivered as the wind came through the cracks, caressing my skin like icy fingers. He had whispered my name when the clock had struck nine, and I had rushed to his side. I gripped his warm hand and had leaned down to hear what he had to say.

"Can I get anything for you; can I do anything for you my love?"

I whispered to him, as I brought a hand up and smoothed back some of his golden hair off his forehead;

"Pocahontas," he rasped out as I gazed at him, "Take care of yourself, you hear me?"

"Don't speak like that, you'll be alright," I tried to reassure him as I swallowed the lump that was in my throat.

"My love, these years with you, have been the happiest that I have ever known," John said, as he weakly brushed a tear that had begun to slide down my cheek.

"Please, please don't leave me," I whispered as I held fast to his hand.

"I love you," John whispered as I tried to blink back tears, "You, you must go, go on with your life, be happy, we will meet again one day."

John gasped for breath as my tears were flowing freely, "I love you, please don't leave me, please stay with me…"

"No matter what happens to me, I'll always be with you, forever," John breathed as I buried my face in his soft blond hair.

"Please, move on, you must go on with your life Pocahontas," John said, as he feebly raised his hand to touch my raven like hair.

"You know," he began with a small smile appearing on his lips, "I've always loved your hair."

"I love you," I repeated, "You will be alright, please don't…"

"I'll never leave you," he whispered and then began coughing, his breath coming in shallow gasps as I had tried to raise his head from the pillow. He fell back in my arms, my one arm behind his head and the other was holding him close.

'I don't care if I get what he has, at least we'll be together.'

I had thought as I gently pressed a soft kiss to my husband's lips, "I'm so grateful to you."

"I would have been lost with out you," he said softly as I kissed him again, my tears running little by little onto his face.

"I love you," he gasped as he lurched in my arms, "Pocahontas."

In the blink of an eye it was over, a few short breaths and he had closed his brilliantly blue eyes and slumped against my body.

"No," I had whispered as I fell to my knees and had placed my head in my hands and had begun to tremble. I had wept for my love, and I had walked over to the place where my husband kept his gun. When we had first bought it, I was very apprehensive to have a gun in the house, but John had said that we needed it for protection so I had relented. In that moment, the weapon looked like the perfect escape and the chance to be with my only love. I looked at him then, his eyes closed as if in sleep, and his words flashed through my mind.

'Move on.'

When we had gotten married, I thought that this was finally it. We were to be together for the rest of our lives, raise children, and maybe go back to Virginia once we had saved enough money. I had never pictured him dying; death was the farthest thing from my mind.

'Sometimes I see you standing there, sometimes it's like I'm losing touch.'

It usually happens whenever I wake up to fast in the black of night, and my dark eyes play there trick on my hopeful heart. I swear I see him, standing by my bed or by the door and I call out to him. Then he disappears; but I know he was around me. I generally stay up until the sun has made it's way past the trees, and my tears cease to fall. Even after two years, I still talk to him; I cry to him and beg him to stay. The people in London thought I was going mad, my friends had even come around and gave there support and condolences on his passing. Now that I am in my village, many of my people leave me be. I have my father and Nakoma, and there are still days when I sob in my father's arms, wishing for what I would never have.

'Sometimes I feel that I'm so lucky to have had the chance to love this much.'

John Smith was the only man that I had ever loved. He was my first love; he was my first everything. The passion, devotion, the love and the knowledge that we would sacrifice everything just to be with one another. He had given up his ship, given it up for me and we had decided to live in England for a time. He told me that he would do it all again if it meant he could spend his life with me. The spirits had blessed me with such a wonderful man, and they have cursed me; given me misery that I from time to time feel that will never lift.

'God give me a moment's grace, as if I'd never seen your face; I probably wouldn't be this way.'

Now and then, I wish that I had never met him. Anything to escape the hurt, the constant pain that I feel. After these thoughts, I shut myself away and cry, begging him that he'll forgive me for such absurd thinking.

'Your mama says that I just shouldn't speak to you.'

Martha, John's mother told me before I had left to not talk to John anymore. I had asked her how she had known, and she had replied with, "A widow knows." She had embraced me then, and said that in order for me to move on, I shouldn't speak to him, and I need to let him go. I had held back the question that I had really wanted to ask her: how can you let go of someone that will be with you forever?

'Susan says that I should just move on.'

After his funeral, everyone had told me that things would get better, that I would get the strength to move on. Susan Lotten, a neighbor of mine told me to go on with my life that it was what John had wanted me to do; but I just couldn't, I just can't. I desired that it would have been me to die of a fever and not him. However, he would be going through what I am going through, and that is a pain worse than death. My best friend Nakoma, had placed her arms around me the moment I told her of John's passing away; but even now she is telling me to at least try and move on. Move on, why does everyone say that when someone passes away? Do those words even have a sincere meaning to them?

'You aught to see the way these people look at me, when they see me round here talking to this stone.'

In England, a slab of stone marks his grave; and under grandmother willow, I have placed a smooth shiny rock, a stone that almost looked like the one in England. I kneel by it almost everyday, and I have seen the way Nakoma raises a brow as she looks at me. No one in my village seems to understand about the stone, but then again no one inquires about it.

'Everybody thinks I've lost my mind but I just take it day by day.'

What else can I do? Today was the first time that I had taken a step that resembled going on with my life. I believe that after dinner, I will go to his stone under grandmother willow and talk with him; just to see what he thinks. I hear his soft deep voice in the wind, I sometimes close my eyes when I go to where we first met and I can feel his hands on me, can listen to his voice like the whisper of the waterfall.

'I probably wouldn't be this way, I probably wouldn't hurt so bad; I never pictured every minute with out you in it, oh you left so fast.'

I still hope now and again that he will come back, but I know it is not so. Slowly, that fact is becoming clearer and clearer with each passing second. The moment that I had accepted Peter's offer, my hope had shattered in to a million pieces. But this is what John had wanted from me; he wanted my hope to shatter. The hope that he would come back and sweep me in to his arms was gone.

'Sometimes I see you standing there; sometimes I feel an angel's touch.'

It's a soft hand on my cheek, or a gentle breath on my neck in the faint moonlight of night; but I know it is him. My arms instinctively reach for his body, but they always come up empty. Tears like rain slide down my face, and although my eyes are closed, I whimper in my sleep. Nakoma had shaken me awake, for she had been staying at my hut in case I had needed her; she offered to stay and I took her up on that offer. Just because it only happened once, does not mean that it hasn't happened again. This morning, my cheeks were moist;

'Sometimes I feel that I'm so lucky to have had the chance to love this much.'

When I go to sleep I at times dream of my life of happiness with my husband. The way his rich laughter seemed to fill a room, the way his eyes would gaze at me full of love, and the fire and passion of his kisses and caresses. The way he made me feel, I thank the spirits for him each night. I will do that until the day we'll meet again.

'God give me a moment's grace, as if I'd never seen your face; I probably wouldn't be this way.'

I pray and I hope, I will continue to hope and pray that the pain and heartache will end, but so far my prayers have gone unanswered. As I bring a spoon full of stew to my lips, I allow a small smile to form on my face. Things will get better; accepting Peter's offer to court me has shown me that. Shown me, that my heart may be able to heal, and I know John would be proud.

"John," I murmur as I place my bowl down onto the ground. I leaned back on my sleeping mats and shut my eyes. I lay there as the wind begins to blow, and the smile on my face gets wider.

"You know," I said softly to the wind, "If we were still married you wouldn't be very happy about me courting Peter."

The wind blew harder;

'Everybody says I'm crazy, guess I'll have to see.'

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